Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Shit Classes

Registration for the fall term starts tomorrow and I don't like what I'm seeing. The classes I'm expected to take sound so boring! I'm planning to sign up for some film studies courses to keep me from taking a gun to my head (nothing fancy from Walmart. Just a thrice-ticketed, bargain basement doodad). I'm deciding between taking SOUNDS II now or a year from now, taking into consideration how much I hate, hate, HATE producing media. I'm not DJ Spooky, I listen to commercial-free radio, I don't care for sentimental service announcements, and I'm more than certain both Pete Schweaty and his balls will not, in time, grow on me.

I'm not a good student, I don't plan to be, what am I doing in university? When Minglet Man described me as being "diligent," I laughed in his face. I'm about as diligent as a door rug, which fulfills its duties for simply being shaggable. I wish I was born an heiress, never having to worry about GPAs or the occasional STD (unless a foundation is named after me), and be fluffed and fondled like a canine armpit accessory.

I admit I'm only venting because it's the end of the semester and I still have one exam left. But I mean it when I say I'm not a good student (or consider myself one). It's so much easier to print a diploma off the Internet, scribble out "University of Phoenix," replace it with "Nipissing College," and end up more qualified than a Hindu-exhorting lifestyle guru from Tanzania ("My chakras are going crazy!" "Down the hall, to your left. Mind the cleansing moss.")

I'll be 19 in less than two months. Why, why, why aren't I getting any (carefully-approached, meticulously-analysed, intellectually-stimulating) action?! Oh right, because I'm hung up over a guy with a girlfriend who lives 300 miles away he won't get a chance to see until early next year.

Love bites like a rabid bitch and I've clearly been vaccinated.


Highly recommend Kings of Leon. I've been listening to their Aha Shake Heartbreak between Beck's Guero and new tracks by Interpol, Hot Hot Heat, and Gorillaz.

Two words to describe all of the above: saccharine excess. Maybe it's me, but songs have become too catchy for their own good.

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